


In Plain Sight - Part 2

by Chimera (Lucky7)



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:33:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29444883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucky7/pseuds/Chimera
Summary: “There are now songs about the Mandalorian who helped teach farmers how to protect their village from raiders,” she says. “And dances performed that depict the destruction of an Empire Walker.“ She smiles beatifically. “He is a hero among young and old.”This is a somewhat stand alone drabble of a scene that follows the Mandalorians' exit from the restaurant in Part 1...because I really liked the restaurant proprietor (excellent acting!) even though she had but an abreviated role. I had hoped to see more of her in subsequent episodes but since that didn't happen, I've given her an expanded role in my fic... ^_^
Kudos: 12





	In Plain Sight - Part 2

Slowly he retrieves a small silver ball from his tunic, one he had hurriedly hid when Bo-Katan had entered the dining establishment with her cohort. With them finally gone he now places it in front of his bowl and continues to eat, staring at this last remaining remnant of the Razor Crest...and reminiscences about the past.

He has certainly made a mess of his life...and is still not certain how he could have done anything differently. His up bringing had been all about serving those in his covert, respecting his tribe, and honoring The Creed.

And this he had done. As a bounty hunter he’d been able to share his earnings with his covert and help provide for other foundlings in the tribe. And though it was a lonely existence, he’d had his purpose, his ship, his tribe, and the covert.

But then he had felt compelled to emulate his own beginnings as a foundling by rescuing a child from certain death. Now he has nothing: no ship, no tribe, no covert, no purpose. 

And no foundling...though he had willingly given up the child for it’s own good.

He touches the silver ball with one finger, rolling it to expose the threaded hole. The throttle shaft on which it fit is of course gone forever...history, like so many things in his life.  He picks up the ball, feeling it’s surface, smoothed to a satin finish from years of contact with his leather gloves. 

Perhaps that is what so fascinated the kid...Grogu... That shiny surface, the tactile sensation it imparts to his fingers. And he  wonders if the kid misses this particular toy. He knows he misses the kid.

Still, he would not change this outcome, not since it allows the child to be taught by the Jedi. Even though he, once a member of a respected tribe, is now being hunted by powerful enemies, having become the target of the Empire, the Republic, and his own kind: mandalorians from different tribes who covet the Dark Sword and the power it represents.

He places the ball back on the table, giving his attention once more to his meal.

It has been a lonely stretch since hitching a ride on Slave 1 to this location. And despite efforts on the part of both Fennec and Fett to talk him into joining them, he had declined, too drained emotionally and physically to do much more than insist they simply leave him on this planet within walking distance of a near-by town. He needed to be alone for a while.

But whoever said time heals all wounds really didn’t know what they were talking about…

In his case, time has only made the pain worse. Oh, not the physical pains; those are almost all healed. But he is still dealing with losing someone in whom he is emotionally invested: his foundling. In addition, he is now facing doubts about his very identity, his self worth. The fact that he had been able to justify removing his helmet in front of others - twice now - is testimony to his unworthiness as a Mandalorian. Undeserving to even wear Beskar armor. And in removing the latter too, what does that now make him?

He dips the bread into his bowl again, carefully avoiding a floating leaf in the soup, noting that Koska was at least correct about one thing: those Corinth leaves deposit a bitter taste on one’s tongue. He pushes the offending condiment to the side of his soup bowl, his mind insisting on reliving that earlier scene.

He’d not been too surprised when the Mandalorians walked into the eating establishment. He had doubted - hoped - he would not be recognized, counting on having had his back to them during the last time they were together...when the Jedi took his foundling. He had swiftly put his helmet back on after those elevator doors shut.

And weren't both those actions just symbolic of this darker existence!

He knows why they search for him, wishing for the hundredth time he could just destroy that Dark Sword. But it is not possible, no more so than simply giving it away. He’s already tried both.

He knows Bo-Katan is not one to give up. She may have been reluctant to accept that icon of leadership from him when it was willingly offered – there were after all, witnesses to this offering – but he never got the sense that she would simply forget the power it could bestow on her. She still sees herself as the rightful owner of the Dark Sword. And the Throne. The first having value because it leads to the latter.

So if battling it out with him is not an option (he would simply yield), then convincing him to accept the mantle of Manda’lor…but with her “consultations”…Bo-Katan would have the mastery she craves, even without the Sword. The power behind the throne, so to speak…

So no. He was not shocked at their sudden presence here.

“Shall I get you another bowl? More bread?”

He startles, his hand automatically dropping to his thigh for a blaster no longer there. But it is only the proprietor, the woman Bo-Katan had questioned. How did he not sense her coming up behind him? All the more evidence that he is not deserving of the title “warrior”!

“No. No thank you. This will do fine.” He hastily retrieves the silver throttle knob from the table and restores it to his belt.

“It’s all right, you know. They didn’t recognize you.” She says, wiping an edge of the already clean table with bottom half of her apron. “We all knew who they were after…”

Din is dumbfounded, looks around to identify the “we” and suddenly realizes the chatter and laughter so evident before is no more. The dining area is silent, though there are still several tables occupied with families. People who after a quick glance at his table, turn away their gazes.

“Sorry…?” his confusion evident as he turns back to the woman.

She takes the seat opposite him. “There are now songs about the Mandalorian who helped teach farmers how to protect their village from raiders. And dances performed that depict the destruction of an Empire Walker.“ She smiles beatifically. “He is a hero among young and old.”

Din stares. Finally finding his voice, “I think you are confusing me with someone else…”

“Removing your armor does not hide your identity.”

He remains silent for several heartbeats. What does this woman know about his identity…or at least what used to be his identity? He had met her only briefly some time ago. “I know this much: to be a Mandalorian is to follow a Creed,“ he finally explains. “Wearing armor is a core tenet of their religion.”

Even as he speaks, Din shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He really does _not_ want to have this conversation…and certainly not with a proprietor of a dining establishment! “I do not wish to seem rude, but you do not know of which you speak. You do not know who…or what…I am.”

“I know you are not considered a stranger here. You were identified the minute you walked into this establishment. For several reasons. We get very few off-worlders; everyone knows everyone else, and though it is sometimes very annoying, everyone's action is known to everyone." She leans forward, continuing in a conspiratorially voice, "We tend to gossip...”

She offers him an apologetic smile. “For instance, it is common knowledge you were dropped off by a space craft not far from here.”

“And that makes you think I am your mythical warrior?" He scoffs, continuing, "As you can clearly see, I am unarmed; I wear no armor. You are simply mistaken… I am not a Mandalorian.”

“You can say that, but you cannot hide the way you walk,” she replies. “Or the set of your shoulders, or the warrior confidence that surrounds you like an invisible mist. Or that you reach for a weapon when startled.”

She grins. “And I also recognized your voice. It’s rather distinctive….”

Din glances around the room again. The chatter and laughter has started once more, diners again interacting with each other. Good. At least he is no longer the center of attention.

“So does the removal of weapons or armor suddenly change a warrior to…to something else? Something less?” she asks. 

Din is suddenly brought back to the many conversations he has had with The Armorer. The ones about weapons, and training, and the duty to use both in a manner that would honor his tribe and pay homage to his Creed. 

But there are questions he never asked. Like if the instinct to protect, and the ability to do so, disappear with a lack of weapons or defensive shields... Would the Armorer excuse him from his duty if for some reason he lost his weapons, his armor? Would he be expected to ignore all those years of training...ignore the Creed?

And then there is the current dichotomy between Creed interpretations - something he just recently discovered. Members of one group prohibiting a warrior from taking off his helmet in front of another living being, with members of another group apparently considering that a custom of cultism, and having no problem removing _their_ helmets in public.

Bo-Katan had not hidden her distain for his tribe. _“You are a Child of the Watch. Children of the Watch are a cult of religious zealots..._ ” 

But if it is so, then it leaves the Creed open to other interpretations, perhaps a third kind, one that views helmet and armor as simply tools of the trade with an emphasis on other requirements of the Creed. After all, the wearing of armor is but one tenet of the Resol'nare…

“In any case, you have a haven here, whatever you decide,” the woman continues. “You can hide in plain sight. Your meals and lodging are free, and your armor is safe…yes, yes, I know where it is hidden! But it is well protected,” she adds quickly. “It is as revered as you are in this area.”

She stands and smooths out her apron, once more just the simple proprietor serving a customer.

“And by the way, you can order the soup without those disgusting leaves… Our cook may not like it, but the customer is always right!”

**Author's Note:**

> I realize there may be some negative feedback on this fic concerning Mandalorian canon...but from what I understand, these fictional characters (Mandalorians) were depicted as white-armored "super-commandos" in the original 1980 Trilogy (now known as SW Episode V). TPTB then merged these conceptual commandos to create single entity known as Boba Fett.
> 
> It was the Star Wars "Expanded 'verse" that created all the Mandalorian rules and lore surrounding these warrior people...my point being, that none was set in stone by the original creators. Thus I just presented a different view on it all: if there has been permission given to take off the helmet, then why not the armor?
> 
> Post 2: As much as I would like to see such a scene as I have described in this fic, it's not likely to ever happen.  
> https://collider.com/pedro-pascal-last-of-us-casting-the-mandalorian-effect/  
> Pedro Pascal will play the lead role in a new series ("The Last of Us"), and under a first position contract that show takes precedence over any scheduling conflicts with any other work. Thus the Mandalorian helmet must then stay on so stuntmen can do the action scenes and Pascal only the post production voice-overs.  
> Too bad...


End file.
